


First Impressions

by popculturehoe



Series: Magnetic [1]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s01e11 Lord John Marbury, F/M, Gen, Meet-Cute, Slow Build, no real interaction between the pairing yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popculturehoe/pseuds/popculturehoe
Summary: First impressions mean a lot, especially at The White House.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Original Female Character
Series: Magnetic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752097
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. First Day

**Author's Note:**

> So I've started watching The West Wing... I LOVE Josh and Donna together but I'm feeling a little self-indulgent so I decided to throw an OC into the mix. Please don't kill me!!

Her nerves were getting the better of her as she entered the James S. Brady Press Briefing Room for the first time. She had seen it plenty of times before, but that was only on television. This room held so much history, so much prestige, she almost felt unworthy of being in it. Actually, she _did_ feel unworthy of being there. Who was she to deserve this job, to have that kind of responsibility? Four years ago she was just an intern for the _New York Times_ , and now she was a member of the White House Press Corps. How the hell did I even get here? she thought. But she could dwell on that later, because she was late. The Metro had been running behind schedule that morning, which according to her colleagues from the _Times_ wasn’t something out of the ordinary. Looking around somewhat frantically, she saw her immediate boss from the paper, Paul, with his graying hair, thick, round glasses, and brightly colored bowtie. Making a beeline down the aisle to her assigned seat, she heard a voice bellow.

“Excuse me,” they said. “Didn’t you read the sign? It says ‘No tours beyond this point’.” What on Earth was he talking about? “You.” He pointed directly at her, and she felt her face growing hot. The voice belonged to none other than the Deputy Chief of Staff, Joshua Lyman. Leave it to her to get singled out by one of the Senior Staff within five minutes of her arrival. “I’m sure you can’t wait to tell your friends at school about how you pulled this off… I’m surprised no one from the security detail has followed you. Enjoy your eighth grade class trip.” 

Oh, God. He thought she was some dumb teenager who snuck her way into the briefing room. “I-I’m not a student,” she explained. “I’m Sara Byrne, I write for the _New York Times_. My press credentials are right here.” She flashed her brand new ID as she sat down with her colleagues.

“That was some entrance you just made,” Shelley, another one of the writers said, chuckling. “You look spooked.”

“I feel like I’m back in school,” she said, smoothing out her skirt. “And I just got called out by one of the teachers.”

“Josh Lyman can be kind of an ass,” Paul told her. “It’s just the way he is, don’t pay any attention.” She took a pad and pen out of her bag as CJ Cregg stepped up to the podium to begin that morning’s briefing. 

“Good morning everyone,” she greeted the room. Propping her reading glasses on her nose, she began to read. “Firstly, I’m going to clear up some rumors that have been floating around since last night. Troops in India in fact invaded the northern region of Kashmir in Pakistan. This invasion breaks the cease-fire that was implemented in 1986.”There was a chorus of “CJ!” And “Over here!” She pointed to a reporter from _The Washington Post_ as Sara began furiously taking notes. “John.”

“Is it true that this is not just some small vigilante movement? There have been reports of 300,000 soldiers.”

She sighed. “Yes, over 300,000 Indian soldiers crossed the border into Pakistan.”

“And the no one in Washington knew anything about it leading up to last night’s events?”

“That is correct,” she said. The chorus began again and she looked at the crowd over her glasses. “Peggy.”

“What is the president planning to do in regards to the conflict?” The woman asked.

“I haven’t been informed of anything as of yet,” she replied. “I will let all of you know as soon as possible.” She shuffled through her papers. “The rover that was being sent to Mars several months ago, Galileo III, burnt up upon entering Mars’ atmosphere. The report from NASA says that the materials that were used on the outside of the rover were ‘incompatible with the Martian environment’.” The room grew loud again. “Brian.”

“Do you know anything about their plan of action for the rover?” A reporter from the _Boston Globe_ asked.

“They are going to do some tests on the materials used and see exactly how they burnt up, and then probably start doing tests on other materials to see how they would react to the make-up of the atmosphere. Once they find something that works, they’ll use it.” She looked over her papers again. “The First Lady is going to be a ‘surprise reader’ for a second grade class at Lafayette Elementary School today. This is in part to get some publicity for the country’s new reading program. Also… the president would like to remind everyone that Notre Dame is playing Ohio State in football on Saturday.” She took off her glasses. “That’s all she wrote, folks. I’ll have more on the India/Pakistan situation later this afternoon.”

************

Sara spent most of the morning reviewing her notes from the press briefing and trying to come up with something that could make a good story. The India/Pakistan conflict and the Galileo III rover were too ambitious for her first Washington write-up, so she began doing some research on Lafayette Elementary School and the new nationwide reading program, Reading 2000. It was safe, but it was something that readers would be interested in, because after all, the country wanted to know every move the president or the First Lady made, especially in DC. She was so focused on the task at hand that she barely noticed her stomach growling. Checking her watch, she realized it was already 1 o’clock and figured it was probably time for some lunch. She left her small office and saw Laura, the Press Corps Secretary, walking down the hallway.

“Hi, you’re Sara, right?” She asked.

“Yeah, I am,” she replied. “I was just going to go get some lunch, but I remembered I don’t know where anything is.”

“I was just about to go down to the mess,” Laura said. “You can come with me if you want. I’ll give you a little tour of the West Wing.”

“Thanks,” she said as she adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I heard about what happened during the press briefing,” she said quietly. “I think everyone has… that’s so embarrassing!” Sara laughed dryly. “But hey, _Josh Lyman_ knows who you are now!” They continued to walk, past the offices for Reuters and NBC. “He is so _cute_.”

“I’m sure he has no idea who I am,” Sara said. “Or that he cares who I am, for that matter.”

Laura shrugged. “This is where the Senior Staff’s offices are.” She pointed out the bullpen, Toby Ziegler’s office, and Sam Seaborn’s. “Sam’s a bit of a nerd, but that’s easy to get past because he’s really hot.” They walked towards the lobby and turned a corner, finally arriving at the mess. It was food court style, so Sara and Laura went their separate ways to get their food and then regrouped at an empty table.

“So you came from the _New York Times_?” Sara had a feeling that Laura was one of those people who was either always gossiping or pumping people for information.

“Yeah, I worked there an intern first and then I was on the staff as a reporter for three years before they asked me to come here,” she told her as she took a bite of her sandwich.

“That’s so cool,” she said. “I have a journalism degree from Johns Hopkins, I’ve already been working here for a year. I haven’t had any luck getting interviews with any of the papers or outlets here, which is ironic, because I’m around them all the time.”

“Your time will come,” Sara told her earnestly. “I worked hard to get where I am, but I also got really lucky. I worked my ass off to get into NYU, and to pay my way through school, my advisor recommended me that internship, I couldn’t have gotten it on my own.”

“You’re gonna learn fast,” Laura said, taking a bite of her salad. “The White House is a… difficult work environment. It’s gonna take a lot more than hard work for you to be successful here.”

Sara swallowed; Laura sounded bitter. “Oh, hi Donna.” Sara looked up from her French fries to see a slim woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Hi Laura,” the woman said. “How are you?”

“I’m good, just hanging in there until Friday, you know,” she said cheerfully. She gestured over to Sara. “How rude of me. Sara, this is Donna Moss, Donna, this is Sara Byrne.” The two women exchanged hellos. “Sara just started working with the Press Corps. Donna is Josh Lyman’s assistant.”

"You’re the one he yelled at this morning?” Donna asked, a sympathetic look on her face.

_Well if that isn’t just wonderful, Sara thought ruefully._

“On his behalf, I am so sorry. Josh can be a total jackass.”

“It’s fine,” she played it off. “I was bound to embarrass myself in front of the Senior Staff and my colleagues at some point, why not get it over with on my first day?” Laura and Donna laughed.

“It was nice talking to you, Laura, and it was nice to meet you, Sara,” Donna said. “I have to get back to work.” She walked out of the mess.

“I actually should get back to my office too,” Sara told Laura. “I have some phone calls to make.” She began to wrap up her sandwich.

“Sure,” Laura said. “I’ll see you later.”

Sara left the mess and attempted to make her way back to the Press Corps offices without getting lost. She had already made a couple of wrong turns and had to backtrack by the time she got to the bullpen.

_A few more feet and then I have to turn… left, she said to herself._

Suddenly, she bumped into something, or rather, someone.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” the person said, putting his hand on her back so she didn’t fall backwards. A friendly smile crossed over his features. “I’ve never seen you around here before. Sam Seaborn.”

So this was the nerdy guy Laura had told her about. The only thing nerdy about him were his glasses, but even with them he was still _very_ good-looking.

“Sara, Sara Byrne,” she introduced herself for the thousandth time that day. “I’m with the _New York Times_ in the Press Corps.”

“I hope you’re not writing about the president’s plans for the India/Pakistan conflict,” he said with a frown. “But if you are, try not to throw him under the bus _too_ much.”

"I’m not,” she told him. “I’ll be sure to tell Tom Shepard that you said that, though.” He smiled again.

“Thanks,” he said. “See you around.”

She made it back to her office without any other mishaps or transgressions, called the First Lady's office to get some details on the visit to the school, looked up the reading program, and began writing the first draft of what she hoped was going to be her first story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest, this whole thing was inspired by that first interaction between Josh and my OC. It just seemed like something he would do and say.


	2. Bylines and Bagels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She went to take the last everything bagel when another hand bumped into hers. 
> 
> She looked up to see that the hand belonged to none other than Josh Lyman.

“Your story is going on the front page of tomorrow’s paper,” her boss, Paul, told her. “Congratulations, your front-page first byline.”

A huge grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she tried not to jump up and down as her boss reached over to shake her hand vigorously.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” she said emphatically.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Your writing speaks for itself. You have a bright future ahead of you if you keep writing stories like this one.” 

Sara had been a part of The White House Press Corps for two weeks, and she had gotten stories published in the paper before, but none like this. Before that night, the stories she had gotten published were far from serious: the president’s distaste for green beans, the First Lady reading to a class at a local elementary school, and Zoey Bartlet’s social calendar. They had been relegated to page A17, deep in the paper where people usually skipped over much of what was written. Now, her work was going to be on the front page. The story Paul had chosen to put in the next morning’s paper was about Lord John Marbury, a former ambassador from England that President Bartlet had plucked out of semi-obscurity to help him during the India/Pakistan incident. She had gone about getting her information in the most textbook of ways, calling the Embassy and speaking to Marbury over the phone, not wanting to be too shrewd or pushy. There was no reason for that in this case.

Marbury was a strange character, to say the least. He had multiple royal titles, including Marquess of Needham and Dolby, Earl of Croy, Baronet of Brycey, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the United States from the Court of St. James’s. She had already done some research before calling his office and knew of his royal titlage, but he had told her of them multiple times during their conversation. They were meaningless to her and most likely most of the people he came into contact with, but it was clear that he tried to use his position of royalty to his advantage. During their thirty minute conversation, he had tried to proposition her at least five times and flirted shamelessly. Many of the sources Sara had come across had described Marbury as somewhat of a lothario, and she also found several restraining orders and claims of sexual harassment filed against him.

Several days earlier, she had gotten the honor of being able to speak with the President for a few minutes about Marbury. She had walked into waiting room of the Oval Office with butterflies in her stomach, beginning to feel like she was going to be sick with nerves. Walking up to the desk next to the door, she tried to shake them off.

“Hello,” she greeted the secretary. She was an older woman, probably in her early sixties, with short blonde hair and glasses. She was wearing a pristine red suit with a crisp white button down shirt underneath.

“Hi there,” the woman looked up from her work. “How can I help you?”

“I was told I could come here at 10:30 to speak to the President for a few minutes,” Sara explained. “I’m with the Press Corps.”

“What is the meeting about?” The woman asked.

“Lord John Marbury,” she replied.

“Sure,” she turned to the young man standing next to the door. “Charlie, tell the President his 10:30 is here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded politely. He popped into the Oval Office and came back out a few moments later. “He’ll just be a minute, he’s on a conference call.”

Sara looked around, observing the artwork and photographs on the walls.

“I’m Dolores Landingham, by the way, the president’s secretary,” she stood up to shake Sara’s hand. “First time here?” Sara nodded shortly. “Don’t be nervous, dear. He’s very easy to talk to.”

“Thank you,” she said, grateful for the woman’s words of encouragement. Mrs. Landingham had a very motherly energy about her, and Sara thought she seemed like a good woman to know. The kind who would be sweet but give you tough love when needed and take no shit.

“He’s ready for you Miss Byrne,” the young man named Charlie said. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and walked towards the Oval Office.

Upon her entering the famous room, Jed Bartlet removed his glasses and stood up.

“Good morning,” the President greeted her. “You wanted to speak with me about Lord Marbury?”

“Good morning, sir,” they shook hands. It suddenly dawned on her that her hand was extremely sweaty. Damn nerves. She glanced around the room, trying to hide her awe of being there. “I-It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President… and y-yes.”

“You’re new to the Press Corps?” He asked, leaning against his desk.

“Yes, I moved to Washington from New York a few weeks ago,” she explained. She was gripping her notepad tightly.

“I liked that article you wrote about the Big Ten basketball tournament,” he told her. She began to relax; sports were something she enjoyed talking about. “Too bad Notre Dame didn’t make it into the Final Four.”

“I’m a Duke fan, sir.” She blushed, unsure of how he would react to that. “I was pretty happy about the Final Four last year.”

“I’m afraid we can’t talk then,” Bartlet frowned, then he broke out into a grin. “I’m only kidding. Come, sit down.”

He went back behind the Resolute Desk and gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs placed in front of it. After she sat down, she took a pen out of her bag and adjusted her glasses.

“I’ll make this as quick as possible,” she was sure she was taking his time away from something much more important. “Why Lord Marbury? Surely there’s other diplomats or officials who have just as much, if not more knowledge about Indian foreign policy and military strategy?”

The President explained to her that while he knew his choice was probably seen as odd and out of left field by many in Washington, he had said he was going to stand by it and not make it seem like he had any regrets, although Sara could tell that he did. Even though Marbury was the British Ambassador to the United States and the former Commonwealth Ambassador to New Delhi, he was the farthest thing from pragmatic and tactful. He had a tendency to unintentionally insult people, and didn’t care if he insulted people intentionally, no matter what their position of power and status might have been. He was fond of a drink and was often drunk at public events. In short, he didn’t have the best reputation. After she was finished asking the questions she had prepared for him, they talked some more about college sports.

“I hate to be rude, Sara,” he began after looking at his watch. “But I have an 11 o’clock meeting with the Department of Labor that I need to prepare a little more for.” He smiled warmly as she stood up.

“It’s not a problem,” she told him. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. President.”

“It was my pleasure, hope I helped you,” he said. “I hope we have the chance to speak again.”

“Likewise,” they shook hands. She left the Oval Office and walked back through the waiting room and caught Mrs. Landingham’s eye.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Mrs. Landingham asked her. She shook her head. “Would you like a cookie? I made them myself.”

“Thank you,” she took a cookie out of the bowl and took a bite. They were snickerdoodle. “Have a good day.”

That night when she went home, the first thing she did was call everyone in her family and told them that she had spoken to the President. Her parents were proud of her of course, sarcastically saying that maybe her move five hours away might have been worth it, her sister, who was studying law at Fordham University, was jealous, and her brother didn’t really care. Her grandmother asked her if he was just as handsome in person as he looked on TV. The night after Paul had told her she was getting a front-page byline, she did the same thing, not even waiting until she changed into sweats and threw some leftovers in the microwave. Her father answered the phone.

“Hey kiddo,” she rolled her eyes and smiled. She was thirty years old and her father still called her that. “It’s late, is everything alright?”

“Yeah Dad, everything’s great,” she was sure he could hear the excitement in her voice. “Is Mom there? Put me on speaker.”

“Hi, honey,” she heard her mom’s voice come through the phone.

“Hi Mom,” she said. “I have some news. I’m going to have a news story on the front page tomorrow!”

“Wow Sara, that’s great!” Her mother exclaimed. “Your name, on the front of an international newspaper! I’m going to have to buy a copy to show to everyone.”

“Way ahead of you,” she laughed. “I have five copies set aside to bring home.”

“I have to call Grandma and tell her,” her mother’s voice was thick with emotion. “On second thought, I should probably wait until the morning, I don’t want to wake her.”

They talked for a few more minutes, the three of them discussing what had gone on at home and at work that week. Her parents were, of course, very excited to hear about Washington DC and dying to hear about the behind the scenes goings on of The West Wing, but Sara had to admit that she was a little homesick hearing about her brother’s college antics and her grandmother’s doctors appointment. Her family was very close, and she was the first member of her family to move so far away from home. She missed being apart of their everyday lives.

“I should really get to bed,” she told her parents. “I love you guys, talk to you soon.”

“Goodnight sweetie,” her mother said.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” her dad told her. “This is a big accomplishment.”

“I know,” she smiled. “Bye guys.”

*******

The next morning, Sara went straight into the mess to grab some breakfast and coffee. It was much-needed; she had barely gotten any sleep the previous night because she was so excited about seeing the early edition of that day’s _Times_. She opted for the biggest size they offered and took a sip before she had even paid for it, feeling the effects of the sweet, sweet caffeine immediately. Then she went over to the food area and grabbed some fruit. Then she moved over to where the staff had put out bagels. She went to take the last everything bagel when another hand bumped into hers.

She looked up to see that the hand belonged to none other than Josh Lyman.

“Sorry,” she said, moving her hand away. This was her first time getting a good look at him. She could feel her face getting hot; as much of an airhead as Laura could be, she was right, Josh was _very_ cute. He glanced over at her quickly, probably realizing that she was staring at him, and then did a small double-take. His brown eyes locked with hers momentarily before she heard the person he was speaking to on the phone ask if he was still there.

“Take it,” he said quickly, moving his phone away from his face. “I guess I just won’t have a bagel today.” She couldn’t tell if he was actually angry or not.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, unsure if he had even heard her. When she went up to the cash register to pay for her food, she could feel his presence behind her, and it made her anxious.

At her lunch hour, Sara decided to do some exploring, get to know the area surrounding the White House a little better, so she went across the street to the OEOB. At one o’clock, she headed back to the West Wing, and while she was walking through one of its many hallways onher way back to her office, she saw Josh Lyman and Toby Ziegler walking in the opposite direction. She just couldn’t get away from him.

They were in mid-conversation when he stopped and said, “Hey, you stole my bagel this morning!”

“Yeah, that was me,” she said sheepishly. He recognized her.

“I didn’t catch your name this morning,” he grinned. Toby rolled his eyes.

“Sara Byrne,” she told him.

“Sara Byrne,” he let it roll around in his mouth. “What department do you work in?”

“The Press Corps,” she replied. “With the _New York Times_.” They moved out of someone’s way.

“Ah, so you have the pleasure of duking it out with CJ Cregg every day,” he said with a chuckle. “Not that I don’t have my fair share throw downs with her.” She laughed and he smiled at her again, this time a little more of a flirty one. She noticed that he had dimples, and it made her stomach do a flip. God, she was like a pathetic teenage girl.

“Enough flirting,” Toby cut in. “We have to go over that memo.”

“Yeah, right,” Josh mumbled. He turned back to Sara. “I’ll see you around.” She kept walking towards the Press Corps offices, trying to ignore her heart racing, just like it had after she saw him that morning.

When she got back to her office, she attempted to rewrite a story she had been assigned about what the EPA was going to do about the growing hole in the Earth’s ozone layer, but had no luck. She couldn’t stop thinking about her two interactions with the Deputy Chief of Staff. She moved her swivel chair over a little bit and poked her head into the cubicle next to hers. It belonged to Shelley, one of her colleagues at the _Times_.

“What do you know about Josh Lyman?” She asked.

Shelley had her desk phone to her ear and put one finger up, signaling that she was speaking with someone and would be able to talk in a moment.

“I’m sorry, I was on the phone with someone from the ways and means committee,” she told her. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking what you know about Josh Lyman,” she repeated.

“‘He’s one of the greatest political minds of this administration’,” she was quoting last month’s _George_ magazine. “He’s kind of a know-it-all, and arrogant as hell.” She cradled her chin in her hands, thinking.

“Is he… uh, seeing anyone?” Sara asked, and a knowing smile crept over Shelley’s face.

“You’ve been subjected to the Lyman charm, I see,” she said. “His words.” She rolled her eyes as she said it. “I _thought_ he was dating his assistant, but apparently he’s not. Coulda fooled me, though.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Thanks,” she said, and moved her chair back to her desk. Sure, she thought he was cute, she told her herself, but it would never go beyond that. He was a member of the President’s Senior Staff, and she was a member of the Press Corps. Somewhere in some handbook it had to say that that was a conflict of interest.

_Besides, she thought. He’s probably got women lining up to date him. He would never be interested in someone like me…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the first part made it obvious that I haven't written in a very long time, but nowI feel like I'm starting to hit my stride again. I hope you enjoyed, and please leave some feedback if you are so inclined :)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest, this whole thing was inspired by that first interaction between Josh and my OC. It just seemed like something he would do and say.


End file.
